Behind Closed Doors - Discontinued
by SnowBitch
Summary: You think you know what goes on behind closed doors but the truth is some things aren't meant to be seen. For one North Carolinian Detective her first case is still unsolved. the disappearance of Isobel Flemming. Detective Charlotte Preston hasn't had a restful nights sleep since. Devoting every spare hour to uncovering the truth. She's out for blood and Alaric Saltzman.
1. Introduction

Many conversations lead to undeveloped musings and the same can be said for this specific story. It came to me during a conversation and I felt compelled to write.

This is my first stab at fanfic so excuse the limitations to my imagination and hopefully you will enjoy the drivel that I deem fit for consumption.

All comments and queries should be constructive, but I understand hateful people will post hateful reviews. We all have to start somewhere.

Be patient with me. Additional chapters may be uploaded fortnightly.


	2. Prologue

"He did it. He killed her. I know it." Detective Charlotte Preston spoke with conviction as her hands slammed against the metallic desk belonging to her captain. Her swirling emotions provoked a return from Captain Hayes as he thumbed through paperwork. "We didn't find a body. For all we know the wife left him and ran off with a lover. Come on Chuck. The case is closed. It's been ice cold for three years."There was exasperation to the captain's words.

He was visibly irritated with the mountain of administration he had to read through. Charlotte stood clutching the cold case with frantic need; her dark chocolate tresses billowed in the air prompting her fingers to search out the stray locks, tugging with stressful intent. "He-he stowed the body away and disposed of it later. He got rid of it before we arrived. He must have dismembered her and washed her down the garbage disposal. I don't know. Come on Hank, you know it's a possibility. He did it. Every fibre of my being screams it. Have I ever let you down?" Hank groaned before sliding the files back, his jaw was clenched.

He didn't have the heart to tell her to back off the case and let it go but he had been her mentor since the academy. Chuck was his protégé and she was right. Her hunches always panned out even when other detectives couldn't see it, couldn't see the leads that weren't as straightforward.

"Preston, we tailed this guy for six straight months and nothing. He didn't get an insurance payout and his credit check showed no strange activity. No large consumptions of acid or rental agreements for storage lockers. You need to drop this. It's consuming you." There was genuine care and concern in Hank's voice. He had known Charlotte for years. Her father was his training officer when he was straight out of the academy.

Charlotte shook her head vigorously. She was seething but not with anger, frustration mostly. Why was no one taking her concerns seriously? She was convinced Alaric Saltzman had killed his wife. She would not rest until the truth was out in the open.

It took a moment for Charlotte to calm down. This wouldn't go the way she wanted if Hank thought she was unstable. He would have no choice but suspending her or making her ride her desk for a spell. Inhaling breaths filled her apertures before she addressed her Captain. "You're right, Hank. I'm too involved. I need to get away and leave this behind."

Hank was surprised at her change but he didn't take the switch in moods for anything substantial. He blindly believed she had taken his words to heart. "I'm glad to hear it. Take some time. You haven't had a vacation in three years. I'm ordering you to go. Spend a few weeks at your cabin or something. Your job will be here when you get back."

The parking lot was darkening under the downing sun and as she strolled toward her black sedan which was beneath a dimming light, Charlotte's steps were slowing as she advanced to press the keyless lock before sliding into the driver's seat.

A few weeks away would do her good but she wouldn't go to the Cabin in Maine. She had other plans. Charlotte's russet hues fixed on the file open on the passenger seat. - Alaric Saltzman, History teacher, Mystic Falls, Virginia. - The engine turned over and she pulled out of her spot, sparing a glance in the rearview mirror to the three case boxes in the backseat. Her lips twisted into a determined line prior to releasing a statement from her scowled expression.

"Alaric Saltzman. I'm coming for you."


End file.
